This morning I stayed in bed quite a while, no particular reason other than I didn’t really have to get up for some fucking plumber. I ended up over analysing last night again. Now, I think I may have given Chardonnay lady a bit of a raw deal. I’m sure really she is very nice and we could have had a very good intellectual conversation on just about anything, I could possibly have even convinced her that she may not have yet tried the ‘correct’ Chardonnay. But on the other hand ‘inverted helicopter’ boy was there to purely goad me. I’m sure it was his intention to wind me up as much as possible and seeing he was getting a bit of a ‘rise’ just kept continually stabbing me with his repeated attempts at humour. If it would have carried on I would have happily taken the pissed shit outside and beaten the remaining life out of him. He was standing there holding a giant beer bottle, it did somewhat remind me of Frodo from the hobbit holding a normal sized bottle. Then you could ask, ‘Was I pissed?’. Well I took seven cans of lager, we were there four hours and walked home, I placed four cans back in the fridge, so in answer to that, no I wasn’t and was probably under the drink drive limit as well. So, then, well may be I just wasn’t in a social mood? Okay, so that’s probably true, but I was still capable of holding a sensible conversation on just about anything. So my ideal Friday night may now consist of us ignoring each other, eating pizza, drinking beer and falling asleep in front of the television.
I do miss going out on a Friday night.
During my twenties I used to take the bus into town on a Saturday evening and hit some very hard core dance clubs. This was the time when EDM (electronic dance music) or as it was known then ‘House’ music was just arriving on the scene. It was almost obligatory that the club reception would try and sell you class A drugs. You would dance away for twelve hours, powered by nothing but a bottle of Evian and horse tranquilliser. You’d loose your t-shit in ten minutes and your dignity in twenty. Then on the Sunday you would walk home, usually shirtless and wallet-less. How the hell I ever got through that period without any serious STD’s or death, I shall never know. But saying that, I do kind of miss it.
I could go to a dance club now and I would get the response, ‘Who ever brought grandad in here?’. But I could not only tell them the key and the time signature of whatever track was being played by a deejay who could easily be the age of my son, but what Bach track is ripped off from.
I guess I’m just left with eating pizza and falling asleep in front of the television. At least I’m not an annoying twat.
I do hope to get to meet Chardonnay lady again, perhaps we can have a proper conversation again. Saying that, I do hope she is actually like Katie Hopkins, as I’d love to meet her as well…..